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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27622169">Potluck</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/KJGooding/pseuds/KJGooding'>KJGooding</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Star Trek: Deep Space Nine</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Bajoran Culture, Canon Autistic Character, Cardassian Culture, Childhood Memories, Family Feels, Family Reunions, Festivals, Gen, POV First Person, Thanksgiving, Trill Culture (Star Trek)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 16:27:15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,209</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27622169</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/KJGooding/pseuds/KJGooding</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Rali reflects on a memory she is grateful for, and a moment she felt connected to her family members amidst chaos.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Potluck</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>When I was young, the first school classes I attended were on Cardassia.  My Taya Elim practiced memory exercises with me, and when I look back on it now, I’m sure it was best for me to grow up in an academic setting like that before moving to Trill.  I recall the Cardassian children in my class being quiet and respectful.  Most of our exercises in the earliest grades involved drawing and matching in order to expand one’s memory.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I could not articulate at the time how differently my memory was shaped, compared to my Trill peers.  My views were shaped by the impressions left to me by Dax, and subsequently all of its other Hosts and rich lifetimes.  Now I myself am Joined to a different symbiont, but thoughts still come to me in the way Dax taught, and Taya Elim sculpted, and Mom and Dad did nothing but nurture and encourage.  I am grateful. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>For example, if I am to see anything the color of pale pink, I cannot help but feel myself sitting under a </span>
  <em>
    <span>zava</span>
  </em>
  <span> tree as if I am Jadzia the Initiate, obsessing over her term project and staring up at the mosaic of leaves when she needs inspiration.  You see, it occurs to me as if in real, active time, not memory.  It is not my memory, anyway.  Or, if I begin to feel warmer than my preference, I feel like Audrid huddled in front of the hearth in her home, hugging her children and reading a story to them.  She liked uncharacteristically warm settings, so the warm is usually a memory of her.  Or sometimes of Dad holding Dax in his hands.  It depends how warm and happy, or warm and sad, or warm and safe the feeling is to me. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And then, if I feel grateful like I am now, I think of my own memory!  I think of the time I was a child visiting Bajor to see all of what we call my family.  Miele does not know it because Miele was not a part of me; it is all mine and that is important to me, to have. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I was ten years old when we went to celebrate the Gratitude Festival with Auntie Nerys.  She was a Vedek and she lived at the monastery, in a little house off to one side, and they did the big celebration the day before we came, so we kind of had the place to ourselves.  Otherwise, it would have been too crowded - it’s a huge celebration all Bajorans observe together even if they do not know each other.  It was nice of her to do one just for family afterward, so I got to see Ro and some other Aunts and Uncles, and Cousin Yoshi is Kira’s baby too.  I’ve heard her need to explain it to people who don’t get it, but it makes sense to me as much as anything. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Their house was cute!  It was small and felt almost like the house I lived in with Mom on Trill.  It was shaped a little differently, because Bajorans seem to like an oval more than a circle, but it was one story with a few steps into a basement.  There were baskets hanging everywhere with plants in them, different vines and succulents and creeping flowers coming over the edges.  I remember I wasn’t paying close attention when we first came in because I had my symbiont toy in my hands, and I bumped my head on one - it was a soft woven basket so it didn’t hurt, but there was a bird in it, and I startled the bird. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This is Bel,” Nerys introduced the creature to me because I started walking away and rubbing my head and muttering about it.  I did not want to hurt it, but the noise it made was unpleasant.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I nodded at it and let go of Mom’s hand. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hi, Bel,” Mom said for both of us. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When Nerys held him he seemed more comfortable.  He made a pleasant humming sound and I could kind of feel it rippling in the air.  She put him against her cheek and he nuzzled her skin, and I thought he was friendly.  He was a pretty color… rosy gold and sparkling when the light hit him just right.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’s a homing owl, or he used to be,” Nerys explained.  “He used to carry messages between cells during the resistance.  He doesn’t have any family, so he lives here at the Monastery with us.  We keep each other company.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’s nice,” I decided.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then Nerys shoved him into my hands where my toy-Dax was, but it was fine.  I touched my cheek against him in the same way she did, and he made a nice hum for me.  I didn’t know what any of it meant because he was not a symbiont, but I guess it meant he forgave me for waking him up.  I know I spent a good deal of the evening looking at him across the room, and I asked to hold him again after we had dinner.  I think I only let him go back into his little basket because the front door opened and more people came in, and I wanted to see if I knew them.  Ro and Nerys had family from their War, and I knew the O’Brien family, but I was waiting for Dad and Taya Elim and Kelas to come in. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I had been in school on Trill for years by myself, and I missed them.  Dad came to Trill sometimes just to see me, but he was on Bajor a lot more because he worked with Nerys, and he lived on Cardassia and did ‘humanitarian’ work there too. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Finally they all came in, and I was excited to see Dad and give him a hug.  He had so many different cases and bags in his arms, he had to find somewhere to drop everything before he could pick me up.  I didn’t need to say hi, I could just make a noise like the owl did and Dad always knew what I meant. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hello, sweetheart,” he was nice and quiet.  “It’s all food!  Your Auntie Nerys said it was a potluck.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mom came up to see him, and gave him a half-hug while he was still holding me. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Unless Captain Sisko taught me wrong,” she said, “that means everyone brings </span>
  <em>
    <span>one dish to share</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“When has your husband </span>
  <em>
    <span>not </span>
  </em>
  <span>been comically over-prepared for every </span>
  <em>
    <span>possible </span>
  </em>
  <span>scenario?” Taya Elim said. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I wanted to make sure there was something for everyone…” Dad said, after he put me down and started to sort through all his boxes.  “It’s a time of celebration, and I wanted to have plenty for those… less fortunate than we are, all having each other.  I mean-- I don’t mean to… romanticize anyone’s suffering, of course, but I want--”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know what you mean, Julian,” Nerys smiled at him.  “I told the entire congregation you were coming, and they were happy to hear it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That was back when Nerys and Ro still had some orphans living on the premises.  There were Bajorans and Cardassians and mixes of the two, still looking for their families after the wars even though those ended before I was born.  I couldn’t imagine how that must feel, but I knew how it felt to have Nerys in my family.  I spent a lot of time with her when I was younger and my parents were away working.  She was protective of me, and kind.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But that was the reason Dad brought a bunch of food - to share with the orphans.  And the reason Taya Elim brought the same amount of shawls and blankets and some totes he sewed himself.  I remember Dad joking that he’d established Cardassian fashion completely, because there just wasn’t anything left in use that Taya Elim hadn’t helped make.  I knew Kelas picked out the colors when Elim was making things for Bajoran families - I could always see their favorites and the knowledge they had of Bajor show through. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>After everyone had time to see each other and say hello, Nerys took us down the enclosed hallway and to the other half of the house, where the dining area was.  It was open and much brighter, with beautiful glass panes in the ceiling letting the light through.  Billowed drapes were gathered beneath them, only catching some of the sunlight, and making the rest of it fall in interesting shapes on the floor tiles.  There were more plants in this room, on shelves and pots on the floor, instead of all along the walls and ceiling.  Nerys held out her hand, with two fingers making a crooked shape, and the owl perched there and let her carry him down the hall.  When we got into the dining room, she held him up to a different basket, and he stepped into it and started burrowing in the plant for sleep.  I remember watching him and picking my seat so I could see him easily.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ro was organizing the table (she did not like me to call her Auntie Laren, so I still do not, to this day.)  There was a decorative strip of fabric running down the middle, and she was straightening out some tassels and beads, so they dangled off the edges of the table.  Some of the chains were so long they touched the chairs, and I realized they were supposed to do this.  It was part of the celebration that connected all of us and our feast and our gratitude, in a way we could all see. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And of course, everyone was talking the </span>
  <em>
    <span>entire </span>
  </em>
  <span>time, but I did not pay attention to much of what was said.  I spent the time watching the owl, and looking at the pretty beads Ro chose for my seat, and trying all of the foods Dad brought for everyone!</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I know I was really missing him - it had been a few years since I got to spend much time with him - and our taste was something we had in common, so little ten-year-old me felt really connected to him during that party.  I can look back on it now, with the understanding of every effort he made to make me feel included and loved.  He was great at it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I would’ve been wearing the hat Elim made me.  I kept it at Mom’s house all the time, even though he made it for me.  He sent it on a transport ship when I was younger.  It had special padding inside where it fit my ears, and it helped muffle the sound coming in.  I used it often at school, and always at parties.  Mom and Lenara did a lot of parties with everyone from the Symbiosis Commission and sometimes their students too. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But I was definitely wearing that, so Dad didn’t bother talking to me.  Sometimes he would sign with his hands, but all of the foods were really complex to try and spell out.  He brought a little notebook of paper and ink, and he wrote out some of the recipes for me to see in Trill!  I asked to keep the notebook from him afterward; I still have it.  Mom tried to replicate some of the recipes a few times afterward, but for some reason they never turned out exactly the same.  Not that Dad was a good cook (I think Kelas helped him </span>
  <em>
    <span>a lot</span>
  </em>
  <span>) but the ingredients were all so different and flavorful.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He and I were particular about the textures of foods.  We liked more intense flavors, too, and they weren’t always flavors that people thought would go well together.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>True to his word, he brought some things that were spicy, some that were sour, and some that were nice and doughy.  Those were good cultural choices for Bajorans, and then for Cardassians and Trill both, and the breads were for everyone.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nerys led a prayer, and even Ro stopped what she was doing to listen.  I kept my eyes open just so I could figure out when it was over, and I remember putting my symbiont toy down in my lap so it would not be a distraction.  The beads Ro picked out for me were not on a long enough string to reach me, but with the symbiont there, they touched each other.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When that was done, we started passing the dishes around.  Dad scribbled down what everything was and tried to keep up, and I think he did a good job.  Everything sounded so fun to eat, I filled my plate up quickly, all the way to the edges. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kelas made the first one, Dad said.  It was a special Bajoran recipe for a steamed bun, so I knew it was just what the occasion would have called for, traditionally.  They were very soft and wrapped in olive leaves.  Some types of Bajoran olive grew on vines underground.  Dad liked the earthy flavor of it.  I liked how soft it was, and Kelas had a nice syrup to brush over the top of it to make it form a crust.  Everyone took one of these, and Nerys had us all poke a hole in the top about the same time, using our forks, to let the steam escape.  She thanked Kelas repeatedly for making the </span>
  <em>
    <span>dofoh</span>
  </em>
  <span> for everyone, so I guess it tasted authentic!  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I know </span>
  <em>
    <span>we </span>
  </em>
  <span>- Mom and Lenara and I - brought </span>
  <em>
    <span>jevess </span>
  </em>
  <span>from our house, because we were all invited to bring something traditional to share our cultures with each other.  I ate </span>
  <em>
    <span>jevess </span>
  </em>
  <span>all the time, but I liked to add raisins to mine and make it into a pudding.  I liked sweet and sour flavors a lot.  Even though I had it all the time, I took a little bit of it onto my plate just to remind me of one of my homes.  We made it fresh the night before we traveled, and let it soak together in the pot the whole trip to Bajor.  </span>
  <em>
    <span>Jevess </span>
  </em>
  <span>is a soft fruit puree we usually eat right after we Join, because it is easy to digest.  Sometimes Joining makes people sick to their stomach, and that can become a chronic problem.  But I just like the texture of it, always have.  So it was neat to share that with the rest of the family we did not see as often.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nerys and Ro had a lot of choices for us.  Flatbreads and spicy veggie slaws we could make into wraps or eat separate.  I mashed the beanpods and root vegetables together to make them seem softer, but I liked the spice a lot.  Kelas cooked some Bajoran foods sometimes when I was at the house on Cardassia, but this was the real thing.  Mom and Lenara didn’t eat a lot of spicy things, even though Mom and Dax were separated.  Mom didn’t know many traditional Trill recipes either, until she started reading through some of the history books with Lenara and exploring the old culture.  I always tried what they made, but I guess none of those were their idea of a celebratory feasting dish.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was another one Ro especially liked.  It had some thin sliced fish in it, baked until it was crispy, with a fermented paste smeared all over the top.  Some slices had a runny egg cracked over them, and Taya Elim grinned when the plate reached him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I haven’t eaten </span>
  <em>
    <span>risgoll </span>
  </em>
  <span>since I was a child,” he said.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Neither have I.  And we called it gul</span>
  <em>
    <span>res</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Ro corrected him; I always liked that about her, because I would do things like that too.  “One of the wardens at our commune wasn’t a </span>
  <em>
    <span>complete hardass</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and when he was the only one on shift, he would come over to eat it with some of our families.  I thought it was a Bajoran staple, </span>
  <em>
    <span>of course </span>
  </em>
  <span>it isn’t.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That doesn’t mean you can’t enjoy it,” Nerys said to her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Please,” Elim added.  “I am sure you make it far better than my mother did, in any case.  I have a strong preference for Bajoran spices.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The two of them tried the dish quietly, but kept looking up at each other.  It seemed to me that they both liked it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then finally some of Dad’s recipes.  And I know there were so many leftovers, Nerys went and called in the orphans from the shelter at the church - it was like they lived in the same house but the church was a little cleaner and nicer for them than the hut Nerys was allotted as a Vedek.  A lot of them said hello to me and were very polite, but Dad had to answer for me when they asked questions.  It was nice to share a meal with them though, I remember I still felt very safe and welcome even with more people coming into the room. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>We had mango jelly with a Bolian citrus peel candied and sliced up and mixed inside, like extra little treats to find inside the wobbly cubes.  So sour!  I even mixed it with the curry Dad brought.  Bajorans liked a lot of rice and of course the aromatic sauce, so he made one with spinach, lime, peanuts, yogurt, cilantro, brussels sprouts, pickled red peppers, squishy soybeans, and a Vulcan </span>
  <em>
    <span>plomeek </span>
  </em>
  <span>broth base.  I know he just picked out ingredients that he liked, but I always thought he had a good skill at it.  Maybe just because I liked the same kind of things.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He brought a huge pot of this, and it didn’t have any specific name.  But he explained the ingredients and what he knew of his history, stretching back into ancient times.  He didn’t talk about his family very much - I understand why, now - but I always liked to hear about the really distant relatives.  It was interesting to me to hear from the people without symbionts to hold onto their histories for them.  They kept traditions alive in other ways, usually just by talking.  Maybe that was why Dad had to talk more than I did. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My people would keep their doors open,” he said.  “If you were passing by and hungry, there was usually a wire on the door you could pull, and you could just… walk in, sit down on the floor with the family inside, and share a meal.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A few of the orphans nodded politely.  There were at least twelve of them pulling up chairs and cushions to sit at, and I hoped they felt at home.  They were passing around the pieces Elim sewed, and of course the food platters, but they stopped to let my dad talk to them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There was a saying… </span>
  <em>
    <span>‘there is harmony among us</span>
  </em>
  <span>,’” he said.  “And all it meant was that you shared a meal!  But that’s really it, isn’t it?  If you want to see peace, the best you can do is sit down and eat dinner together with your neighbors.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nerys looked at him, and said she was proud.  One of the orphans saw and spoke up, and I remember what they said because everything else was quiet at the time. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can I have a scroll, Vedek?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nerys was not a traditional Vedek, I learned, or a very strict one.  She was all about finding one’s own way, which I could admire.  For the gratitude festival, you are usually supposed to write what you’re grateful for out on a scroll, and use it to kind of fuel the next year by burning it.  She had not required anyone in her parish to write something they were grateful for because she did not feel it was appropriate.  There had been a war and a lot of suffering, and in the past everyone was expected to find </span>
  <em>
    <span>something </span>
  </em>
  <span>to be happy about, but maybe it would have been all self-gratifying if the orphans couldn’t find anything else to say except ‘I have a home for right now, with the Vedek.’  Nerys was not like that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course you can,” she said, and she dug one out of a pocket inside her robe.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I don’t know what they wrote on the scroll.  It was not supposed to be a public thing - even if they wrote about Nerys she would not </span>
  <em>
    <span>know </span>
  </em>
  <span>it, but to assume it could have been uncomfortable for her, just the same.  But I am sure it had something to do with the meal, or the new clothing, or the feelings of peace. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She did not read it, either, but everyone passed it around the table until it got into her hand.  She took it and slid it into a vase on the table, where there were already a few sticks of incense burning, and let it catch fire in its own time.  It did not detract from the meal, it just happened in the middle of the table.  We were all connected to it, in a way, with the beads running like a web all over the table and chairs, but it did not take away from everyone connecting quietly.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There were other foods he brought, too.  A big mixed bowl of fruits, all different colors cut into cubes.  A tray of baked seeds, sesame and pumpkin and some alien ones I didn’t recognize, held together with a thin layer of melted paremsan.  There were little cakes rolled up with frosting inside in a spiral, they were bright pink, and Kelas said they were flavored with a syrup they made with roses Elim grew in the garden, petals soaked and boiled down.  I had to try everything, and making room on my plate became a challenge.  I stared at it for a little while, trying to figure out the best way to arrange it, while the scrolls was being passed all around and over my shoulders.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dad had been looking at me for a few minutes, by the time the scroll started to burn.  I was probably looking at the owl again.  Some of the sauce from the stew he made was on my lip, and he signed at me to use my </span>
  <b>napkin</b>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s really good,” I told him.  I did reach for my napkin - Ro had rolled it up and wrapped it in more nice beads, so I almost felt bad to undo it.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m glad you like it.  I actually cooked it, this time.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>I did not talk anymore, but I signed back: </span>
  <b>you did?</b>
</p><p>
  <b>Yes. </b>
  <span>he replied.  </span>
  <b>I replicated the ingredients we could not order, but we cooked them together at home.  Auntie Keiko and Taya Kelas grew the herbs for it.</b>
</p><p>
  <span>He had to spot-write the rest of his explanation because it got more specific.  Trill phonetic letters are nice for long messages; they make a pleasant song in my head whenever I see them, and Dad writes them very well. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Some of them need more humid conditions to grow, while some do well in the dry climate on Cardassia.  You know Taya Elim has a garden, so we use that for flowers and things to eat, and Kelas likes to grow tea plants and some spices.  We grind them up with an old machine from the field hospital - they used to use it for medicines… they used to use TEA for medicines!  But now we use it to turn our dried out herbs into powder, and you can tell how nicely they thicken up the gravy.  It makes for a richer flavor that way. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <b>Interesting. </b>
</p><p>
  <span>I liked to learn all the connections between things, even if they did not seem to be related.  That was the Trill side of me, I guess, but it was something Dad tended to do when he talked, or communicated in any way, at length. </span>
</p><p>
  <b>It can be like a symbiont</b>
  <span>, I added, because my thoughts always came back to them in the end.  </span>
  <b>It’s like little parts of different kinds of lives, together, and it works well. </b>
</p><p>
  <b>I thought you might say that</b>
  <span>, he signed back and smiled at me, and reached for my hand to pat it.  Then he patted my toy-Dax and just kept smiling.  </span>
  <b>Here, did you try the Delavian chocolate cake Taya Elim brought?  It’s filled with tulaberries and cream… </b>
</p><p>
  <span>When the plate with the cake on it came around, he cut a big slice of it out for me, but we ended up sharing the same piece.  We talked some more - signed, anyway - about my classes and some friends I made at school, and of course about how I loved to visit the caves and look after the symbionts. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I was always sad when I had to say goodbye to him and Elim and Kelas, definitely.  But I remembered the feeling of peace he said.  We shared a meal, and I took special little pieces of his personality with me in the food, and in the memory. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>I still cherish it.  It is my memory and my family, and they are all with me in their own ways no matter where I go, or when it is.  I can always remember that beautiful evening on Bajor, where I learned so much from just a meal.  </span>
  <br/>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
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